I've Drowned and Dreamt
by Words of Heresy
Summary: Silva kills M at the public inquiry. Bond unable to move on, traces him to Japan. What neither reckoned on was mother nature's fury. Now trapped together on a god forsaken spit of land, with limited resources and unforeseen danger the last rats standing must make a choice. Bond/ Silva with a side of Bond/Q in the first chapter ;)
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Obviously if I owned James Bond I wouldn't be here (blank look) 

Song: Skyfall by Adele

* * *

_For this is the end_

_I've drowned and dreamt this moment_

_So overdue, I owe them_

_Swept away, I'm stolen_

* * *

The room went quiet a moment when the bullet purposefully broke the chaos, sliced through a guard's shoulder and lodged itself solidly in a woman's forehead. M took a deep lungful of air, her eyes wide and mouth comically slack. She fell, lifeless, into Mallory's arms.

Bond watched the only person to even remotely define "_family_" in his long life of unattached loneliness, fade before his eyes. Fuelled with rage he jerked his head in the direction of the assailant, and would have shot. Should have shot. But the indescribable expression on the other mans' face stunned him into paralyses and stayed his hand. Silva was not smiling, held no gloating gleam in his eyes, nor did he hold the impassioned, crazed valor so often seen on the faces of victors. No. He just watched, glassy eyed and stony faced, not blinking once as he mechanically dropped the gun and marched out of the courtroom. His madly firing lackeys covering his exit at the cost of their own lives.

Granted after the initial shock wore of, Bond should have gone but found himself unable to leave M's body in order to pursue the ex-agent, and by the time the ER pronounced the elderly woman quite dead (as if that wasn't obvious with the silver of metal lodged in her forehead) Silva was naturally long gone and his trail was announced cold from the get-go.

* * *

A year later, when no more undercover names had been released, the MI6 announced the terrorist "Silva" to be of low priority and cut the funding. Manpower soon followed. Mallory once confessed in the confidence of his parlour, that no real effort was ever truly made.

"You see 007, the lead…or I suppose I should say lack of one, was clear to this department two weeks after the incident. We cannot perform miracles, you understand? Although we probably could have pursued harder, when two weeks went by and Silva released no names to the media, it was mutually agreed upon that his intended target was and had always been M. From his history, you can see why he would cease to pursue the termination of undercover agents, when it no longer benefited him. I'm sorry. I know it's hard to hear, but with the Algerian's getting rowdy and that hot mess in the Palestine's, I'm sure you can understand where I'm coming from."

James skulled his two-fingers of scotch like a shot and banged the glass down on the mahogany table.

"I understand. I understand you jelly-balled shits don't want Silva getting itchy hands and maybe pulling the trigger on the hard drive out of some final act of desperation. I understand that a valued leader of this organization with more loyal service under her belt than any of you is worth jack now that she's gone."

"Now hold on a minute Bond, that's not what I meant and you know it."

"I don't want to hear it. I'm on leave Mallory, as of now. Enjoy your succeed into power," he snarled and promptly left the office, never looking back. Outside the rain poured in rivulets, as did Mallory's scotch.

* * *

Bond rolled off with a grunt, panting into the pillow. He was getting too old for this many rounds in one hour, not that he'll ever admit it mind you. Beside him the wiry youth, with bird-nest hair and cheeky eyes, turned leisurely on to his side and observed the still panting blonde with blatant amusement.

"What did you say to me when we met? _"Youth is no guarantee of innovation"_. Forgive me if I'm wrong but I recon I just gave you one for the books."

"Little…shit" Bond mumbled, voice labored and muffled by the pillow pressed firmly against his nose and mouth, eventually air became a necessity and James rolled on to his side, facing his smirking quartermaster. Two pairs of hands, one callused and one smooth, one gentle and one assertive, traced mindless patters on the other's body, hands never straying bellow the belt. They've played the game. Now it was time to talk business.

"You're going to pursue him aren't you?" Q stated more than asked, aimlessly tracing one spiraling scar between the top row of abs.

"Yes," James answered and proceeded to play 'God Save the Queen' on protruding ribs, humming softly. Q attempted to stifle a chuckle.

"Then I'll help you."

"You shouldn't…"

"I know, but I will. Can't let you out there without your trusted eyes and ears."

"You are aware that mine are still quite sharp, are you not?"

"Yes but you're getting old, plus I can get more info at home in…"

"Your pyjamas than I can ever get out in the field." Bond finished for him.

Q smiled and the blonde took the time to appreciate the genuine kindness in the expression. The playful twinkle of chocolate eyes, the slightly furrowed brow and winking dimples, the cleft in the chin that seemed to perfectly complement the plump rose lips and perfect teeth.

_'Teeth.'_ He promptly cleared his head, letting one hand cup the baby soft skin. 'Smooth' he thinks, even with the barest trace of stubble breaking anew, like spring shoots on a freshly shorn field.

"Thank you."

Q let his smile fall and turning his head, pressed his lips against the callused palm.

* * *

"Japan. Can't let go of the Asians can he?"

"Yes James Japan, but not quite Metropolitan. It looks like he's sailing somewhere off the southern islands, some 30km of the coast of Kagoshima. I booked you a flight from Laos to Tokyo for tomorrow night and a train ticket from Tokyo to Kagoshima, from there I hired you a boat under the name Timothy Sandlewood."

"Really, could you be any more gay?"

"Shut it double-oh, or I'll change that booked fully functional speed boat for two paddles and a plank.

"Terrified," Bond drawled.

"Or I'll never let you touch me again..."

"Ok don't do that." The voice was all business. Q smirked, warm in his pyjamas on the other end of the world. Empty threat, but what a reaction.

"Ok your tickets will be available for pick-up at the front desk tomorrow morning. Take everything, but the boat will also be equipped with some of my newest gadgets. I had them delivered last night and all the set up instructions are inside, translated to kindergarten ABC's so you should have no problem old man.

"You little…"

"Password is 'I 'heart' Q 4 Ever'. Cheery-oh!" The dial tone interrupted Bonds well thought out, string of expletives.

* * *

It wasn't that he was hiding. In fact far from it, he was aiming to be caught. As the saying goes "there are only two tragedies in life; one is not getting what one wants, and the other is getting it." That was precisely how he thought of it. He was in plain sight and he loved it. No effort was needed to hide. He could probably march into MI6, plonk Mallory on the nose and still walk out of there scott free. Not that he would. He had other plans. If he was lucky, (and he was always so lucky with his plans) he'll go down in a hail of fire from his favorite double-oh seven. Quick, clean and that sexy view would literally be to _die_ for. Naughty boy. As he steered, he remembered how often he played sailor at the orphanage, using an old fridge cardboard box for a boat. The nuns considered his good behaviour a blessing (mindful of how scarcely it showed itself) and made a deal with the _'devil'_ so to speak. Of course Silva was nothing if not a man of his word (even at 8) and the fretting nuns experienced a blessed month of peace. Than the box tore.

Another wave crushed against the side of the catamaran and somewhat violently tipped the vessel to the right. 'Must be a storm coming' he thinks idly and continues to navigate. So what if he capsized; not quite as charming as being shot down by a hot stud, but twice as charming as being tortured and publicly executed at Barmouth. Another boat was some distance away, jumping erratically as it sped full throttle against the waves. No one else came out here. He would know after 8 days of solitude. 'Finally', he thinks and lets the wind guide him towards his most awaited finale.

* * *

"Double-oh seven" he bellowed in a cheery tone, watching the agent climb aboard, wearing a wet, see-through, white shirt and yummy, black denims. James reached behind himself and pulled free his 9mm. Silva didn't bat an eye.

"I found you, you son of a bitch."

The blonde smirked and effortlessly spun the steering wheel to the left.

"What makes you think I was hiding?"

"Shut it."

"Manners Mr. Bond, didn't our mummy ever teach you…"

"I said shut it!" Bond shot and missed by a metaphorical mile.

"I see your aim never quite returned," Silva commented and turned to glance nonchalantly over one shoulder at the cabin door. It now sprouted a silver eye. "Looks like mummy, don't you think?"

Bond snarled, "I won't miss again."

"No", Raoul sighed, "you won't"; and resigned, drew his hands of the steering wheel. He watched it spin a minute; the boat turning before coming to a standstill, drifting peacefully on the heaving waves.

"Go on than," he prompted.

Bond narrowed his eyes and felt his top lip twitch. _Can't be this easy. Couldn't be._

"Why?"

"Because," Silva proclaimed with a manic, over dramatic humor, raising both hands in exasperation, "I want you too."

"Bull shit."

"A_h_ whether you choose to believe me or not is up to you James…"

"I don't care if you want to die, I don't care if you don't. I saw you kill M in cold blood. With nary a blink…"

"You would have preferred I tortured her? Made her suffer? Suffer for her sins."

Bond remained silent, but his silence spoke volumes of curiosity.

"I didn't want her to suffer James, or I would have made this entire experience allot simpler. It is much easier to kidnap an elderly widow in her sleep than it is to storm a highly secure government building. I simply…needed to make a statement."

Silva's eyes dulled in memory and his entire face changed tragically to resemble nothing more than a plasticine mask, so thinly stretched over bone that it barely held from tearing.

"I wanted her to think on her sins."

A clap of thunder dramatically accompanied the statement, encouraging Bond to look away from the ex-agent and to the east where a flash of lightning lit the sky, followed shortly by another roar of thunder. The sky above them had too grown considerably darker. How had he not noticed that? Tearing his eyes away from the overcast he leveled his target with another threatening look. But Silva paid him no mind; blonde head tilted back as he studied the sky. Hands stretched out at the sides with palms facing upward to greedily catch droplets of water.

"How appropriate," and James barely heard him above the rising wind. Blue eyes narrowed as he once more took careful aim, choosing to center for the chest instead of the head allowing for a larger target. Just as he was ready to pull the trigger another clap of thunder, this time much louder, shook the sky.

"Oh, oh!" Silva was looking to the east, clapping his hands in excitement. Against his better judgment Bond followed his gaze. A good mile away, a small white mark, roughly the size of a dove jumped hazardously on the waves. His boat.

"First rule of sailing James, 'always draw anchor'," Silva laughed heartily, though sobered to easy chuckles when Bond waved his gun at him.

"Get behind that wheel and start steering or so help me I'll kill you right now."

"No James, you'll kill _'us'_ right now," Silva corrected and watched as realisation struck the younger man like a pile of bricks.

"Get…get behind the wheel and steer. NOW!"

"Are you going to shoot me later?"

"Yes."

"Good," and with no further ado the ex-agent elegantly stepped behind the wheel, completely unfazed by the aggressively swaying vessel. Bond on the other hand was quickly loosing his sea feet, sliding precariously from side to side in his new pair of boat shoes (ironic isn't it).

"James, be a dear and go untie that rope over there," Silva off-handedly waved to a high-strung line that was holding one of the sails against the wind. As James moved to comply he was shoved roughly by the force of the wind and knocked into the side railing. The force of the hit made him drop his gun into the water. Shit.

"James," Silva sing-sang, like he might if they were at a picnic and Bond was tardy with the wine, instead of fighting a storm in the middle of Japanese waters.

He swore under his breath and grabbed hold of the rope hook, beginning to loosen the knot. Another burst of icy wind nearly threw him overboard and the entire catamaran tilted comically onto one side, than fell back with bone shaking force. Suddenly Silva was beside him. Cutting the rope with a hunting knife, the blonde Spaniard pressed one hand against James's head, forcing him down while screaming, "duck" as the sail rail flew past them with astonishing velocity. Letting him go, Raoul moved cautiously to the cabin door and with the force of all his weight forced it open. He stepped in and turned to offer his hand.

"We can't just do nothing. We can still save her."

"Too late for that. Inside James. We can't beat it. All we can do is wait it out."

Looking defeated and weary beyond measure, Bond grabbed onto Silva's arm and let the serpent pull him into the pit.

* * *

Hope you like :) Feedback feeds hungry students (points to review button) :P


	2. Chapter 2

Bond awoke feeling severely dehydrated. It was like his skin had gradually calcified and fell away with the wind. He attempted to open his eyes, but was met with the sharpest pain he'd yet to experience. Honestly he wasn't sure he could see. For all he knew he was blind. Or dead. Maybe in purgatory. A seagull barked somewhere to his right and with it came a rush of memories so overwhelming, his head sparked a headache. He was in Laos on his last official mission for the MI6, that Mallory begged him to take short notice. Q tracked Silva to Japan and he flew to Tokyo, trained to Kagoshima, sailed to hell knows where. A storm, there was certainly a storm. Lightening and thunder, waves like miniature tsunamis' and wind so like the howling gales on a Scottish marsh. Silva and him in a cabin, not nearly large enough for two people rolling around like bugs in a match box, bumping, falling, touching, rolling. Feeling.

Blearily opening one eye bought into focus rushing water on pale sand. There was a clump of seaweed uncomfortably close to his face. He made to move it and found his arms blessedly cooperative. Abandoning the task for a better one, James rose and with but one stumble managed to walk a few paces towards dry land. The island itself was strangely empty. There was a clump of trees joining the sand, a rather large looking hill or mountain behind them and then nothing. He looked around and saw what might have been a floating piece of Silva's boat, drifting some distance away. Silva. James scanned the beach. Did he survive? It would be just like the smug son-of-a-bitch to go and die before James could collect on his revenge.

"Silva" he shouted, or tried to but the words came out somewhat croaky. Clearing his throat James tried again, but although this attempt was much better, no reply was forth coming. Suddenly a shock of white caught his eyes. It was strangely out-of-place in a small mountain of seaweed debris. Jogging over Bond could see a body, lying beneath the crab infested plant nest.

"Silva" he whispered and kneeled to aid the other. He might already be dead but no one deserved this kind of burial. Pulling away clumps of molting green and more than a few snappy crabs, James was strangely relieved to see the bare chest gently rise and fall in rhythm. Than a miniature crab slipped from between Silva's lips and James grimaced in sympathy. The ex-agent didn't stir once all the while James was rescuing him and after he more-or-less cleaned the other, Bond took note that the tide was filling in at an admirable rate, already reaching Silva's chest when what seemed like minutes ago it barely lapped at his ankles. Considering that it might be a good idea to move, James grabbed the unconscious man under the arms and dragged him over to the dry sand beneath the tree's. Far enough from the water. 'The shade couldn't hurt either' he thinks, studying Silva's face, brown from exposure, bottom lip cracked in two with a line of blood running black and calcified down his chin.

"_Mmm_" Silva stirred, then made a woeful sound that strangely reminded James of the time he had to comfort younger boys at the orphanage, during those nightmare inducing summer storms.

"Silva. Wake up," he ordered, but helped the other into a sitting position against a nearby tree.

"James?"

"Yes."

Chocolate eyes blinked warily in confusion.

"What happened?'

"We were ship wrecked or boat wrecked, that's not important. We are stranded that's all you need to know. Nothing else made it on land."

Silva's eyes widened marginally in what James could assume was shock, but he knew better, the Spaniard was terrified.

"What do you mean nothing?"

He desperately patted his pockets, but realized a moment later that he was bare above the waist.

"Where are my clothes?"

James snorted, "What, _now_ you're suddenly struck by modesty?"

Silva shot him a wide-eyed look before scurrying off the ground and down towards the water. James groaned but followed the other man, knowing in his current, mostly delirious state he would likely drown, and as much as that would please him, he didn't know how long he would have to face this exile, and maybe company would be preferred to complete isolation. '_No man is an island_,' he smirks. Silva had breached the water and was wadding through the crushing waves towards the floating speck of white James saw earlier.

"Don't be a fool," he called out, "It's not worth the effort."

"That's the boat, the hull. I must reach it."

"Why? You can't honestly tell me you have food or water that could have survived this."

"I don't know, that's not important. Help me damn you!"

"And what do I get out of it? I risk my life so you can fetch a piece of memorabilia?"

"Their might be a radio."

"Bull! Nothing electronic could have survived that storm. Our best chance is to stay here, get some wood, start a fire and maybe roast a couple of those crabs. The boat will gravitate here naturally with the tide, it will probably be ashore by morning."

Silva sighed and slumped his shoulders, standing waist deep in the clear water.

"You're right. I wasn't thinking," wadding back on land he approached Bond with a sheepish grin.

"Come on lets set up camp," he said cheerfully, and James noted it was only a little bit forced.

He regarded the shorter man with an even look, not giving anything away, than simply turned and marched off into the forest, Silva trailing behind.

* * *

"Let's play a game James."

"No."

"I think it could be fun…"

"I don't care, eat."

Silva sighed and idly poked at the wood in the fire.

They had no luck with meat and saw but a few rabbits and squirrels that looked somewhat edible but were a migraine to catch. Wood was not an issue and the two easily gathered enough to sustain them through the night. A small under ground gurgle, located under a rotten tree stump, proved a solid source of fresh water that was by far the most appreciated find. By the time they made it to the beach the crabs had all gone to sea, but James managed to find a fish trapped between rocks in shallow water. They built a fire, and Bond masterfully skewered the bass, frying it to perfection. Now having settled with two plates of food and a hull of water they carried back using a small fragment of waterproof sail they found tangled in the trees earlier, Bond thought it was high time they ate and kept to themselves.

"I can't."

"Why?"

Silva smirked, "I'll tell you if we play the game."

James snorted, pretending his curiosity wasn't getting the better of him; but after a moment of silence, during which he could feel the other man's stare burn into his head, James let himself succumb and nodded mechanically.

"Fine. What game?"

"The question game."

Bond gave him a blank look.

"I ask you a question," Silva drawled patiently, with an air of a pre-school teacher. "You answer truthfully, than ask me a question and I do the same, and we keep going."

The blank look was still there, now complemented by a condescending smirk.

"You do realize that I know, that you know, that I know" the agent said, "you already know everything about me."

Raoul gave a Cheshire grin.

"Not everything James. I don't know for one your motivations, your loves, your interests beyond MI6, your dreams for the future and so on."

James frowned, "and you're interested, why?"

"I'm a curious man."

Bond popped another piece of fish into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully, shrugging he swallowed.

"Alright, we'll play. I go first. Why aren't you eating?"

"Ah, ah, ah," Silva wagged his finger from side to side while simultaneously reaching over for a log to throw into the fire. "We play paper, scissors, rock, to see who starts."

James rolled his eyes but reluctantly stretched one arm forward, he waited for Silva to do the same and then shook his arm three times in sync with the other, swiftly crushing the ex-agents scissors beneath his all-powerful rock of doom.

"Ha!" he couldn't help but proclaim in victory and watched the other man's face fall in defeat and something else James couldn't quite analyze.

"Ok James, you win," Silva sighed and sagged forward, placing his forearms on his cross-legged knees. "You heard me tell our dear mummy about what happened in China I presume? Well the cyanide hydroxide didn't just cause cosmetic damage as you saw. It travelled down my throat and into my stomach, dissolving everything in its path. By the time a sweet tourist couple found me, half-dead by the side of the road and drove me to the local hospital, it was already too late. I was somewhat fixed with prosthetic stomach lining where the poison burned through the tissue and an incision was made here," he used his fingers to pull apart the skin of one scar just over his naval, revealing a thumb-size crevice, "so I could feed myself using a G-tube." He looked up and couldn't help but smile at the shock on the other man's face.

"Does that answer you question Mister Bond, or should I go into more detail?"

Shaking free from his stupor, James gave no physical indication that the story had moved him. But a part of him still felt like shit, and the remaining fish in his mouth suddenly tasted bitter. He spat aggressively into the bushes and threw the remains aside. He knew what was coming. Silva must feel exposed, it's only natural he'll lash out with some personal enquiry. Though Bond knew he could lie, he also knew his consciousness wouldn't let him. Not after this unwarranted display of trust. Plus the ex-agent was trained, not unlike himself, in the arts of lying and detecting a lie. If he picked up on Bond's fibbing, he'll likely return the favour. And as much as it pained him to admit it, he truly was curious about this man. Cleaning his hands with sand, James prompted the other man without making eye contact.

"Ask me something."

"What's your favorite place in the whole wide world?"

James startled and looked up, Silva simply regarded him in amusement and something akin to understanding. He knew James expected the worst, and threw a curve ball when he least expected. Not hesitating a moment, Bond answered.

"England"

Silva smirked

"How patriotic. Care to elaborate?"

"No."

A shrug quickly followed a yawn.

"Suit yourself. Though you have a point, we should put the game on hold for the night and get some sleep."

Stretching out the ex-agent rested his head on his arms and shut his eyes. Across from him Bond followed suit and they were soon asleep.

* * *

The wind was what woke James. Only then did he hear mewing beside him and quickly spun his head towards the sound. Silva lay next to him, pressed firmly into his side. Face slack in deep slumber. Completely unfazed and peaceful; taking steady lungfulls of air and exhaling in little mews. He not so gently shook the man.

"Silva, what in hell are you…"

"Body…warmth," was all the other managed to drawl out before fading out again. James sighed and closed his eyes.

* * *

At dawn Silva woke to the screech of seagulls and the barely there touch of sea mist against his face. Beside him lay a small waterproof briefcase. He would recognize that case anywhere. It was his G-tube and nutritional supplements kit. Just behind it he could see Bond struggling to pull ashore the ship wreck they saw yesterday, shirtless and glistening with sweat. He paused to swipe one hand across his brow and turned his gaze at Silva, face giving nothing away.

"I could use a hand," he said brusquely.

Silva nodded mutely and found himself getting up. The case stayed by the burned our fireplace, like an unspoken promise.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Ok I read somewhere that Bond was born 1923 or something and that would make him over 80 in the movie. Since that is beyond terrible I gave him and Silva a different age, cause when I get to writing smut I can't do my thing visualising 80 year olds going at it like bunnies :P

* * *

James was staring again. It intrigued the other man, how often he was doing so lately, without ever being consciously aware of it. Silva smirked and cast a knowing look at his companion. Falling backwards into the sand, he rested his head atop two folded arms and gazed plaintively at the stars.

"Just ask James."

If the other man startled he didn't show it.

"You're a good hacker…"

"Thank you."

"You hacked Q and he's the best."

"Clearly he's not."

"The best in England,"

Silva made a derogative noise.

"How did you manage to get so good at cybernetic technology, in just a couple of years?"

Silva didn't answer for a long time. Eventually Bond sat up to poke at the fire, assuming the conversation was over.

"How old do you think I am?

James went by appearance

"I don't know late forties…"

"Oh Mister Bond I know I'm handsome but that's just blatant flattery."

James rolled his eyes at Silva's overt delight. The other man sobered soon after and made a show of stretching, with both hands over his head. Reaching too far and accidentally scratching the side of one clothed thigh. James shivered. Silva scratched a couple more times for good measure. This was no accident.

"I'm 54 James. Do you still love me?"

Bond snorted and moved away a couple of inches, the disappointed sigh bringing some relief.

"Still you only recently escaped…"

Another snort and Silva moved his arms to once more fold behind his head.

"James, James, James. I'm disappointed, I truly am. All this talk about you being mummy's special little boy, and than you go and say something like this."

James considered throwing a cock-shell at him.

"_Tut tut_," Silva continued not sensing the danger, "I guess I'll have to educate you, again. But you're such a charmer, I really don't mind."

James bit his bottom lip to hold in his retort.

"What year do you think I got traded to the Chinese?"

"Just tell me already?" James growled sick of being made out to feel like a clueless fool.

"1996, I was 38 years old."

James nodded, than realised the other man couldn't see him.

"So when did you escape?"

Silva broke in to manic laughter.

"Escaped? Oh Mister Bond you are priceless…"

James just waited out Silva's outburst. Knowing he needed a release on the pressure valve to keep from falling apart.

"I was dumped James. Can't blame them. Who wants a girlfriend who can't write because all her fingers are broken? Or talk because her esophagus melted into her stomach? Now that my secrets would die with me, I was useless to them."

James threw another log in the fire.

"So you were left to die."

"Yes, and you already know the rest of the story."

"So when did they…"

Silva made no physical sign of being effected, but James could have sworn the other man's body convulsed from head to toe.

"Eight month."

"Eight month." James repeated, and didn't bother to hide the unspoken accusation in his tone of voice._ 'Only'_.

Silva bristled like an angry cat. Sitting up he spun around and glared hatefully at the other man.

"Yes Bond, eight month. Would you like to see their handy work?"

Not waiting for a reply the ex-agent got up and began to unbutton his pants. James sighed in exasperation.

"Look Silva I believe you."

"No" he growled, "you don't." Pulling his belt free he struggled to step out of his pants. Bond struggled not to laugh.

"Yeah so my chest is a little scarred, so what. Not like yours is any better. Is that what you're thinking James? All agents end up getting a few scuffs and scrapes. Part of the job description, really."

He managed to free his legs and stepped back into the light of the fire.

Bond couldn't hold in the gasp. Every inch of Silva's legs was horribly mutilated. Like a grotesque collage an array of scarring melded together to tell a story of unimaginable horror. Just above the Spaniard's left thigh was a gash so deep, a hollow had formed in the side, making his entire frame look unbalanced. Under it a circular pattern of old stitches surrounded the kneecap, a tell-tale sign that the sheen had been surgically altered. Beneath it the upper calf looked melted and raw, like it was torched until the skin melded with muscle. The toes on both feet, barely visible against the sand, looked skewed and misshapen; as if they were broken too many times and never quite mended right. On the right hand calf, hundreds of puncture wounds left the skin pocked and bumpy, above it what looked to be a prosthetic knee cap lead the eyes to a mangled thigh, where patches of skin were missing, revealing dry, red muscle and mangled scarring, leading upward towards the hip bone and around the back.

Silva turned and displayed the back where the legs were similarly mutilated. There was what looked to be a brand hiding behind the grey jock briefs. Silva turned his head to one side and cautiously pulled the fabric down a few inches until a Chinese symbol, protruding like a stamp, glowered angry white against the tan skin.

The entire time he was appraising the extent of the damage, James held his breath, but after seeing the Mandarin symbol for "whore" he forced his lungs to inhale deeply. Inflicted in just eight month. '_My god_,' he thought and let his eyes drop to the fire. Silva dressed slowly, struggling even more than earlier.

"They say Chinese are very efficient. Wouldn't you agree?"

The older man walked back to the fire and sat himself cross-legged opposite Bond. James looked up and nodded. What could he say? What's done is done and nothing he could say would change that.

"So I spent 4 month in intensive care, than a further 10 month in therapy. I left China and moved to Spain. I stayed with my cousin 6 years and studied advanced cybernetics and IT over the Internet. See I was already very proficient in cyber tech. When I entered MI6, I was offered both positions, that of an agent or the quartermaster; but you know me Mister Bond, I love to _live it up_ so to speak. I took the double-oh post. However after 12 years I needed to refresh and improve so I managed to obtain a doctorate from MIT and started practicing my hacking skills on major banks and large financials firms with the best in modern IT defense systems, moved on to protected government facilities and finally managed to break into a few national treasury's to fund my _'mission'_. Than I studied up on little scrabble boy, knew everything about him by the end of the fortnight. I studied his defense systems, smashed through them with little effort and made some minor improvements of my own."

"Q will be glad to hear that…" Bond said, uncharacteristically sarcastic.

"I'm sure," Silva smirked. "I believe mister Bond," he drawled licking his bottom lip and leaning back on his arms to study Bond down the tip of his nose, "that this game of ours has been very one-sided."

Letting a handful of sand sieve between his fingers, James rolled his eyes.

"Ask away."

"When exactly did you start sleeping with that darling boy?"

James recoiled.

"What?"

"You heard me Mister Bond," the other man remained silent, "oh don't pretend. I know everything remember? And your quartermaster has an interesting collection of data entries in his computer journal..."

Bond glared.

"That's none of your business."

Silva laughed and tilted his head mockingly to one side.

"Of course it is. You are my business."

This confused the younger man beyond reason.

"How so?" he finally asked

"I like you."

James chuckled and replicated Silva's pose, dropping his head back to stare vacantly at the stars.

"_Right_..." he dismissed the statement like so much useless nonsense.

"You don't believe me. Why not?"

"Game time is over."

"No, it's not. I want my answer."

"You asked so many questions I can hardly keep up."

"Don't get smart with me Mister Bond. I assure you, you'll fail miserably."

James snorted but decided the damage was done. He might as well 'spill the beans' so to speak.

"We've been together since a month after you shot M," James placed particular emphasis on the words 'you shot M'.

"And you are serious about him?" Silva asked, completely ignoring the under-handed attempt to raise his temper.

James sighed, "Not really, I'm a double-oh agent, as you were. You should know we are incapable of getting involved long-term with anyone. It's always a risk. People get hurt; people die around us all the time. Sometimes the people we care about most."

Silva studied James for a long moment.

"You weren't responsible for Vespers death James. One cannot save the damned," he finally said. Bond jumped as if an electric current suddenly shot through his body and glared murderously at the other man.

"Shut it!" he spat. "You don't know anything about it. Anything!"

"I know enough," Silva whispered, somehow managing to placate the younger man by simply patting the sand. James sank down as if that emotional outburst cost him all his strength. They stayed silent a long time, watching each other. Every little movement. Every hand gesture, muscle spasm, blink or twitch of the lips was caught and shared, until they finally found the courage to simply dwell in each other eyes.

"He loves you, you know," Silva whispered.

"I know," James frowned, and just like that the moment was broken.

* * *

That night the wind once again awoke him from slumber, but Silva's presence was nowhere to be found. Letting his eyes adjust to the dark, James spots a huddled form, some distance away; curled in on himself and visibly shivering. Not saying a word, he simply crawls the distance to the other man and spoons him gently from behind, melding their bodies together. Silva made no indication that he felt James. 'Maybe he's still asleep', he thinks, but takes pride in the noticeable decrease in shivers.

"Why?" asked the accented tone, heavy with sleep and slightly muffled without the prosthetic in place to support the jaw.

"Body warmth," was his simple reply.


	4. Chapter 4

"I suppose its only fair you start our little game tonight Mr. Bond."

James's smirked.

"How noble of you."

Silva flashed a full grin before dropping his head skywards.

"I'm nothing if not gracious."

"Than you are nothing."

The laughter that rumbled from within the other mans chest, broke through the stillness like a burst of water from a mountain spring.

"Ah, I like you James. I really do."

James just smirked and proceeded to snap branches into firewood. They remained in contemplative silence until the whole pile was neatly stacked. Finally Silva broke through the tepid quiet with a random bout of soft chuckling.

"Tell me James, what did you mean back than, when you said 'it wasn't your_ first_ time'?"

James didn't so much as look up from the dancing flames.

"Exactly what I said."

"Oh please sate my curiosity. Give us a name."

"Alec."

Silva stilled for a moment while that name ran systematically through every file of Bond related data he researched pre and post the Skyfall mission.

"Mmm I don't believe I know him. Maybe you can help me out here."

"No."

"But James…"

"No. Tell me who was your first."

Silva snapped his head to the right so fast his hair swished and glared daggers. James immediately mortified at his own shameful tactlessness, held both hands up as a sign of surrender.

"I'm sorry, I know…" he began to back track, only to be interrupted.

"You know nothing," Silva hissed in that dangerous, melodic, low-key voice that screamed murder, "but nonetheless I know what you meant to ask. I've had many lives and many loves I'm sure while I was employed by MI6, but Silva only had one such encounter. It happened I suppose when Severin was no longer appealing to me. See I was by no means a novice in the field of male 'interaction", he smirked, "but I always preferred women over men and thus hardly ever dabbed in same sex rendezvous. Still after my experience in China, of which I have no doubt you have an understanding," Silva leveled the younger man with an even look, clearly implying the Mandarin symbol he knew Bond would recognize. "I found myself unable to return to those womanizing days. I guess severe trauma and PTSD can do that to a man. I'm sure you can relate."

James scowled, "I am nothing like you. I prefer women…"

"Preferred women. When was the last time you bedded a gal, mmm?"

James didn't drop his scowl. Wouldn't give the man the satisfaction of hitting right on target.

"Am I right in assuming that sweet little Patrick is all the action you've been seeing since our mummies passing?"

"Who?"

"The Quartermaster James, his name is Patrick Duncan." Silva frowned, and looked somewhat confused at the other man. "Wait a minutes Mr. Bond. Are you honestly saying you've never learned his name? But you've been fucking for months! The boy is head over heels for you. Oh the scandal!" He placed a palm flat over his mouth and widened his eyes in an over-dramatic fashion.

"I never asked. I don't care."

"Oh James you best not be telling me all the state secrets, least I get fidgety and send little boy wonder an anonymous text."

"You won't"

"Oh ye of little f…"

"You won't get of this island alive. Not if I can help it."

Silva took a moment to sober, but the grin never quite left his face.

"Ok I suppose I won't hear more from you, but I at least want to play fair."

James didn't comment but his eyes lifted to meet the smirking man's across the fire.

"As I was saying, I needed to dominate again, but women were just not resistant enough. Of course if you take them rough or better yet fail to inform them, they tend to put up quite a fight, but unfortunately nothing I couldn't easily subdue; and for reasons I couldn't place at the time it was never enough. Never enough heat, enough power, enough pain to trigger an orgasm. Severin thought I had remarkable stamina; truth was she simply felt cold to me. Then I started recruiting and met Patrice."

"Patrice?"

Silva studied the other man with amusement while engraving random patterns into the sand.

"Yes, I heard you met briefly on his final mission. Great chap really. So much raw potential and endless energy," the blonde shot a flirty wink at Bond. "We could have been very happy together…" Silva paused for dramatic effect and let out a long sigh.

"If only I hadn't killed him, is that what you're saying?"

A shrug, "I suppose that would be the obvious reason, yes; but not nearly the most important one."

James frowned.

"So what did he do?"

Glancing over one shoulder to contemplatively study the ocean, Silva attempted to sidle an edge of self-excuse into the answer to make it more appealing, but eventually gave up. Might as well be frank.

"He fell in love with me."

Surprisingly James remained as untouched by the revelation as he might have been had Silva simply commented on the steady rise in daytime temperature.

"I…" the younger man started than paused as if regretting having opened his mouth.

"I" he tried again, "understand. It was like that for me too."

Silva waited patiently, assuming now that the can of worms was open it wouldn't be shut, not tonight when they were so close to finding some common ground.

"Alec was a an orphan, he's parents died in a tragic accident and he strongly suspected the MI6 was involved. His family was known to produce very competent military and special ops operatives and he thought it was clearly their intention to have him at any cost, after all 'orphans make the best recruits'. He betrayed me on a mission in Russia and I eventually had to kill him. It was only after I had let him fall to his death that I realized I was in love with him."

Silva nodded and watched a handful of sand escape his closed fist in a misty drizzle.

"Yes now I remember 006 right? He was a looker that one. You have exceptional taste Mr. Bond."

James was setting up for bed before he spoke again.

"Why Patrice?"

"Because he was loyal."

James remembered his brief exchange with the French man, how even in the face of imminent death he kept his lover's secrets.

"I see."

Funny how one can see a monster in another, while someone else can sees the most beautiful person in the world. That night Bond didn't even deny himself the pleasure of warmth, curled up close against the other man's body; one arm wrapped firmly against the slim waist. He drifted off with the rhythmic heartbeat against his palm lulling him to sleep.


End file.
